The Toughest Part of Life
by Gumdrop Boo
Summary: Tuffnut has returned from his adventures abroad and on his first night home is expecting to party it up but is hit with a dose of feelings and thoughts that seem way too mature even for his adult mind. :A post-Seasonal Series story:
1. Part I

**A/N: **This is an alone piece, much in the way my other story 'Roughest Part of Life' is, though it is long and had to be separated into two parts and it's layered with all my other HTTYD stuff. It can be slipped into the ongoing time-line stemming from my seasonal series.  
**FYI for n00bs**: It's pretty necessary to **AT LEAST** read chapter 4 of '_The Summer's Fervor_' and Chapter 3 of '_The Turning Autumn_' [in that order, both stories linked in my profile] before delving into this character with a full emotional understanding.

Thank you, enjoy!

* * *

The chill in the air, the salt in the breeze—it all was so familiar—it was home. Sure the salt and sea had surrounded him constantly but it was different near Berk—it was almost _sweet_. Or maybe he just convinced him of that fact after all he had been through since he last saw the rocky island.

He had been gone for four years and in that time had seen things, experienced things, and met people he would have never dreamed of. Among them were women, great leaders, and new enemies in all the new places he had explored from islands to the Western shores.

He was not the same person he had been before he had left, the life away had shaped him into a man—a fearsome killer, a champion hunter, and a talented lover.

The longship docked in the bay, the sight was for sore eyes. He immediately jumped over the side and ran up the path on the cliff face, ignoring the shouts of his crew that he had left all his packs behind. He didn't care—he had more important things to attend to because one thing hadn't changed and that was the secret fact his was still a complete mama's boy.

People in the village might have wondered who the bright-faced man was that was eagerly tearing through the beaten pathways, but he didn't stop to let them confirm it was the _deadliest weapon_ of Berk.

He reached the spot in front of the door of the lodge he had grown up in, nearly breathless, and banged on it more than a few times. It cracked open and the familiar face of his mother peered out, her hair had begun to gray but it made her look no older. "Mom!" he shouted happily, arms wide open.

And she didn't say anything, but looked him over with a widened, nearly scrutinizing eye.

Then, she did something she rarely ever did, she began to cry with utter relief and joy—swung open the door fully and just _latched_ onto him with an embrace like she was not going to let go ever again. He never took his mother to be so possessive.

"Mom?" He was happy to see her too but wasn't _crying _ about it.

"I prayed to Odin you weren't dead. I asked every day for your safe return and now the day is here," she said quite ecstatic through tears, pulling away to look at him, to touch the small scars on his face that he had acquired over his travels to make sure he was real—only to squeeze her boy again knowing he really was. It must have not mattered how old he was for she coddled him like he was seven years old again. It was still as if she couldn't believe he had returned or was alive altogether.

So, she thought he had _died_? Did everyone else?

This thought caused him to lift her up with a tight embrace. His poor mother, worried she had lost him for good without ever seeing him again.

"Why'd you _think _I was dead? You know I can handle myself so what caused that drastic jump of a conclusion?"

"There was a terrible Snekkja collision on the rocks of the Bog Isles. They found the clan symbol of Berk among the wreckage. Oh it was dreadful, the Chieftress from the Bog Isles had come with news and to return all that was found in the wreckage and my heart nearly stopped when my Ivan's shield was a part of it."

Tuff paled remembering that accident for he indeed had been there—nearly two years prior. He had been thrown into the water when the longship rammed into the rocky shores of the Bog Isle and that was the only reason he had survived. The other men had perished on the rocks. He shook his head of the memory.

"But the shield was unbroken and I took it as a small hope you had survived but a long time had passed."

"It's okay though. I came back. It took me awhile but I'm here," Tuff assured her but never offered details of what he had gone through to return home.

His mother hugged him tightly once more and then an amazed look crossed her face, "You need to tell your sister you are alive and returned to us!"

"Isn't she here?" he looked past her toward the interior.

His mother gave a short laugh, "Of course not, she has her own home now—it's up the path past the market. And since you are here, I suppose I should let you know this lodge belongs to you now—I'm just a permanent houseguest."

"Oh. Cool. Okay!" Tuff shrugged and started off toward the direction his mother hand indicated. No. He stopped and returned to the docks to grab his packs and drop them back off at _his_ lodge. He saw his father's old shield indeed was unbroken even though it had been through many trials with him on his journey. There it was though, right above the mantle where he'd always remembered it to be.

He had to admit, Berk had changed just like he did. There were more lodges that spread past the path to the water springs, the washing stream. It seemed the population had grown and there were faces he didn't recognize. And he had trouble figuring out which lodge his sister lived in but it was clear once he was accosted from behind by two heads—sniffing him up and down and the head on the left let out a high pitched squeal of glee and slammed into him so hard he fell back.

"Hey you guys!" Tuff shoved off the neck of the right and wrapped his arms around the left head, wrestling it into a fond embrace.

The Zippleback spread it's shuddering wings happily and he played with the heads a little bit before remembering why he was standing in front of this particular lodge.

He had missed Ruffnut, after all she was his twin but the last four years he had felt like an only child. He cautiously knocked on the door—wondering how she would react.

Having your twin die and suddenly show on your doorstep might be traumatizing but he shrugged thought off—she was Ruff, she'd be disappointed or thrilled.

The door opened and he saw a mega-bearded Fishlegs.

"What? What are _you _doing with my sister?"

"Isn't it a little late for that?" Fishlegs asked, not humored—not even phased at Tuff's sudden resurrection, and Tuffnut wasn't even making a joke. They heard a sneeze and saw a small child—a girl shyly peek out from behind Fishlegs's boots.

"What is _that_?" Tuff asked incredulously.

Fishlegs frowned, "Your _niece_. Frostbite, say hello to your uncle Tuffnut."

She had to have been no older than two years; she pulled at her long blonde braids and looked at her toes, "Hewo Tubbnut."

"She has a stuffy nose right now," Fish gave the reason for her odd words.

Tuffnut was in shock. His sister had a _child_? Was that _safe_? She had a child with _Fishlegs_? Sure they had been dating when he left but he figured she'd get tired of him and move on.

"What's going on? Who's there?" he heard faintly his sister's voice ask rather adamantly and obnoxiously. It was like music to his ears.

"It's Tuffnut," Fishlegs answered neutrally. Man, Fishlegs was just _not _in the friendly sort of mood; he looked worn out. He scooped little Frostbite up—she was ridiculously tiny compared to her father—and she held his shoulder, "Bedtime Sweetcake, you aren't supposed to be up and about, you know that."

"But Dabby, I wanteds to see ungle Tubbnut."

"Maybe tomorrow. You need to rest. Now Blow," he presented a kerchief and held it to her nose. She closed her eyes and blew, making a honking sound.

"I feel bettuh now." She insisted and grabbed a bit of her father's blonde beard to pull his gaze down fully, "_Now_ can I see Tuffnut?"

Tuff could feel himself smile at his niece's curious persistence to know him. Why not? He was the coolest uncle ever and he already knew it.

Fishlegs only shook his head but smiled warmly at his daughter, "Bed."

He turned inside which finally let Tuff be able enter the lodge.

Not two steps in there stood Ruffnut, arms crossed, scowl on her face just as he remembered leaving her, or maybe that was all his default memories of her.

Scowl, scowl, scowl.

She was wearing a dress, she looked different.

"You should get back to bed too," Fish ordered as he passed her but she ignored her husband and continued to stare at her brother.

She flipped a piece of pale blonde hair from her eye rather indignantly, "I _knew_ you were alive, my _twinstinct_ told me so."

Tuff rolled his eyes, and stepped inside "Yeah but '_twinstinct'_ failed to tell me you had a kid."

"Well it took you long enough."

"Missed you too, sis."

She threw her hands up with sudden ire, "You _missed _everything! My _wedding_, my _daughter,_ not to mention _three_ of our birthdays—" she ranted but he just stepped forward and firmly hugged her.

"Not anymore. I'm home now—for good."

Then, to his surprise he felt her squeeze him in return, "Not too hard bro."

"What?"

"Don't squeeze me too hard."

"Why?"

"I got another bun in the oven, idiot—or did you fail to notice my unusual fatness?" her pleasant demeanor snapped to annoyed instantly.

"You get to bed!" they heard Fish demand from upstairs, addressing his wife yet again.

"Bite it, I'm talking to my brother for the first time in four years!" Ruff shouted back, finally in an acknowledgement.

He was staring at her stomach, "Odin, _another one_?"

He let her go and kept looked down, indeed her once thin midsection was bulging out slightly.

_That's what's different._

"How did you survive?"

"You don't want to hear of my dangerous thrilling endeavors at motherhood," she warned menacingly and he agreed fully.

And now he could understand why Fish was so surly—dealing with an ill daughter and a pregnant wife—_Ruffnut _no less—must have been like a day trip to Helheim and back. Brave, brave, Fishlegs.

Tuff's respect skyrocketed for his bro-in-law immediately even more so because Frostbite was an indication that Fishlegs had put up with this _before_ and had survived.

Fishlegs descended the stairs from where he had let off Frostbite "Can we get you a mug of ale or something?"

"Actually I was headed toward the tavern, you should join me you look like you could _use_ a drink," Tuff thumbed the direction behind him.

"What is _that_ supposed to mean?" Ruff bit in question.

"It means you should probably go sleep for the rest of your term because you're really damn grumpy, and what's with the mood swings?" Tuff blurted despite Fishlegs's wide-eyed, cutting motion for Tuff to stop talking behind her.

"_Get out of my house_!" Ruff shouted and her husband bravely intervened to her attempt to attack her twin. Probably not a good action for her or the unborn baby.

"I'm pretty sure it's Fish's house and he doesn't mind me, do ya Fish?"

"_Goodbye_ Tuffnut," Fishlegs insisted as Ruff tried swinging at Tuff. She would have made it too if not for Fishlegs's arm barricade.

"But you should really join me!" Tuff called backing out of the doorway. "We can catch up!"

They were now brothers after all now, weren't they?

Fishlegs only absentmindedly nodded as he dealt with Ruff's slough of curses. The door shut on him. If one thing had stayed the same while he was away, it was Ruff. One baby out, one baby in and she still was the most unpleasant sister he'd ever known.

* * *

That night he and Snotlout hit the tavern hard and merry after Tuff shocked the living daylights out of his best friend at being alive. The only way to celebrate was to go to the tavern. They even got Fishlegs to join in though Fish warned he could only stay a bit for Ruff needed him and so did his daughter.

They sang songs and challenged one another to drinking contests. Men asked him about what he'd seen while away and he was vague, not really wishing to delve back into those memories quite yet. He wanted to bask in the aura of home! Surrounded by friends, and people he was familiar with, scents, and tastes he had known all his life that he had missed while gone.

Fishlegs left in the middle of it all, seeming to incessantly worry about the state of his girls. Apparently Fish didn't understand that both of them had Thorston blood—they would be fine. They just needed sleep. Let a Thorston woman sleep and she'd be worlds better when she woke up—at least to Tuffnut's knowledge regarding his past experiences with his mother and sister.

Snotlout wasn't hurrying home, and he had a wife, a daughter and a newborn son—albeit none, pregnant, ill or crazy.

What did Tuff have? Nothing like that, though it seemed pretty comfortable. No, all he had was a handful of adventures, chilling memories, some scars, and deliciously satiating nights.

Tuff threw back a swig of the stout in his tankard and called for more. A few bar wenches were about and Tuff wouldn't mind taking one home for some entertainment. They were all young, pretty Viking lasses who flirted with the men across the bar and refilled their mugs. His barmaid was a catch—a blonde with a lofty bosom. He wouldn't mind a roll in the hay with the likes of her. There was also a red-head tending to the middle of the bar—she laughed loudly at any compliments thrown her way. She might have been an easy conquest, though Tuff did prefer a slight sass in his women as it seemed more of challenge to dazzle them and it made the end result so much more enjoyable.

There was a dark haired barmaid on the far end who had not served them all night but was rather busy keeping the orders of those men over there filled. She was thinner, but her tunic was low cut and sleeveless, leaving her top assets a taunt for the imagination of men. He saw her do a trick and cross pour two ale mugs at once, which caused her patrons to shout and holler in drunken amusement and also warranted her some lusty offers or so Tuff could barely make out. She looked like a girl he'd laid with his time in the continent—well from the back anyway.

His vision might have been fuzzy around the edges. He had his share of babes over his journey but yet, none of them suited him so he merely enjoyed their intimate company—nothing more. He had hoped he could bring one back and he had looked but had found none that were lasting. On the outside he had crude thoughts, and might have said a few ungentlemanly-like things to them but once together he would always treat them like the ladies they were.

Maybe he was just feeling the urge to take a woman to bed and it didn't matter who at this point. Whatever it took to not feel so alone because even after everything that had happened he was still just that, soon to be sitting by himself on a night at the tavern.

And it was starting.

Snotlout slapped Tuff's shoulder, and gave him an intoxicated hug "I'm back off to m' lodge. See you t'morrow. Welcome back!"

"See you tomorrow," Tuff mumbled, wiping his hand over his face. They had forgotten to high-five to keep their masculinity in tact. But no one noticed, they were all just as merry if not more with ale in their bellies.

So now what?

Perhaps it was a good idea for him to go home too. He hated to admit it to himself but ale was one of his many demons.

He slammed his mug on the counter-top and paid his serving wench the amount owed for a night of cheer. He decided to pass on her and try his luck with the dark haired one. He ambled over to the other side to get better acquainted with her. It was hard to shove through the patrons who were already trying to get her attention.

"You know I've been watching you all evening and there aren't stars in Valhalla that shine as bright as you," he leaned on his elbow and fed her a line he learned in the Iceland. Girls loved that one.

She turned to reply but as soon as she faced him she right out dropped the mug of ale she had refilled.

He figured she must have liked what she saw so much she couldn't handle it, but that was until she frowned and struck him across the face. He nearly fell, he didn't expect it—what did he do wrong?The other ones must have spoken cruder things to her. His pick up line was classy!

"You're dead!"

"What?" he blinked, trying to will his vision to clear. So now she was threatening death upon him? She didn't respond but only looked to be scowling and holding back sudden tears, like he had hurt her feelings. Was this the effect he had on the women of Berk? Odin, No wonder he left in the first place.

He barely dodged another riled swing from across the bar but tripped off-balance from his sluggish reaction and hit his head against the edge of it.

It was lights out.

* * *

His head really hurt, dizzy, disoriented—both from the hit and the mass amount of ale in him. When he woke he barely knew he wasn't still on the longship, or in his lodge, nor his bed. There was a pretty bad taste in his mouth too. It was dark but for a candle lit near the bedside. Or no, what he laid on was _not_ a bed, just a fabric stuffed with hay or leaves, causing him discomfort but only slightly better than the cold ground.

"Good. You're awake. Now you can explain yourself."

"Explain myself?" he mumbled, unsettled and looked at what he made to be the mad bar wench on her knees and looking him over at eye-level. That violent, yet enchanting piece of bar wench that had tried knocking him out. Did she? Is that why his head hurt? He couldn't remember. And now he was in her bed—no—_mattress_? He was so confused.

"Yes! When did you get back?" She nearly shrieked.

"Uh—how long was I out?"

"You have been _unconsciou_s for three hours and I'm growing weary of watching over you to make sure you aren't poisoned, now are you dull or just too drunk? When did you arrive back in _Berk_?"

_How does she know I had even come home?_

He looked her over, suspecting she might have been a mystic,_"_Uh…this afternoon?"

She narrowed her eyes, weighing his answer as truth or lie. She must have believed him, not that it was any of her business.

"And what are these scars from?" she demanded, running a finger across some scar tissue on his chest. His skin prickled with a subtle arousal.

That was when he realized he didn't have his shirt on, "I fought something called a _bear_…where's my shirt?"

"I threw it in the wash pile because you got sick all over it you drunken fool."

Oh, that was what he tasted.

"How did I get here?"

Where was _here_? A dingy looking area that couldn't even be called a lodge—a single room of a shack. The cool autumn air could be felt seeping through the cracks in the walls. They needed to be patched.

She left his side with a huff and began to remove a bucket of water off the fire pit, "I was going to beat you up for being a jerk but then you fell and hit your head and then you woke up but I couldn't tell if you were all there and _then_ you got sick over yourself so I had _Cringe_ lug you over to my place since your mother would probably just chide you or make fun of you in the state you're in—I know you never liked being teased, just like I don't. What?" she stopped her rambling explanation and asked because she noticed he was staring at her.

He _was _staring at her—trying to figure the mad girl out. She spoke as if she knew him but her face didn't ring a bell when he looked at her—all he saw was a very pretty girl he wouldn't mind getting to _know_ better that night. He was halfway there in her bed, no—_mattress_—and without his shirt, he noted with roguish intent.

However, there was something familiar in the rambling manner she talked—he pondered to what in memory he could place it to, still looking around the room for clues. He took notice of a Viking helmet hanging off the corner of a wooden stake leaning against the far wall. He knew that helmet well, and realized no other could possess it—bringing her identity crashing to his mind.

He could not believe it.

"H—H—Harkin!"

"Yes, _Harkin_ or did your four years abroad wash out your memory?" the lass snapped but with a hint of disappointment, and then a quieter, "You forgot about me."

"No, I could never forget Harkin but _you, _lady, are not _Harkin_."

Seriously. Harkin had been the scruffiest little tomboy in the village—this figure before him did not even have any of the familiar traces of the Harkin he had known.

"Little girls grow up. Just because you leave doesn't mean time stands still at the place you left or to that girl you abandoned sitting alone on the dock in the fog."

He winced at the bite in her tone of speaking '_abandon_', remembering— "It was for the best."

"You can't tell me what is _'best'_ for me! You're _not_ my father," she slammed the bucket of hot water to the ground next to the bed and a bit splashed onto him and burned him. She was actually scowling. Did she hate him? No, she couldn't have or else she would have let him sleep it off in the tavern just like the tavern keeper's daughter had many years ago. He hated passing out at the tavern.

"Rinse your mouth," she demanded, ladling the water and holding it to him. He drank it but it burned badly, he managed to swish it around and spit it into a bowl she held out. He wiped his face, still feeling a little uneven from the alcohol.

He took in her look, still unbelieving. Harkin. Little Harkin? She was now a tavern girl—who was subjected to drunken males chasing her skirts. This realization angered him.

"I don't have to be your father to tell you that working nights as a tavern wench isn't respectable. You're of warrior class, you're better than that. Don't you have a fella or someone to keep you out of that kind of mischief?"

Although if she did have a guy, they probably would not like the idea of an older man half-naked in her bed, er—_mattress_ while she ailed him.

She snorted, "Please, you can't even talk about respectable— you were even hitting on me. I can take care of myself."

There was nothing but adamant determination her words.

She wrung the hot water from the rag and set it on his head with a disheartened sigh, "No man seriously wants a girl without assets, Tuff. My mother passed away two winters ago from sickness, my father is a dead warrior. I'm not worth their courting and so I do what I can to survive and if working long evenings serving ale will pay, I will do it."

"What happened to your father's lodge?"

"It passed to my mother but then passed in rights to a distant male relative—we're in the outback shed He was kind enough to let me take shelter here."

That didn't seem '_kind'_ in the least.

She stood and curiously looked out her window to see what was making noises, also dumping out the bowl's contents while she was up over there. The noises were probably a gaggle of Terrors in the slop hold. But he nearly jumped at the sudden emerald scaled Nadderhead peeking a weary eye through the pain.

"I'm fine," she insisted to the dragon. It eyed Tuff lying there and let out a sharp, satisfied sniff, moving on.

"So you finally got yourself a dragon?"

She only nodded and offered no more explanation.

He was vastly saddened to hear of her mother dying. Who had taken care of her after that? How did she cope?

_What have I done_? Tuff chided himself, his self-worth knocked down a notch at remembering her to ask him not to leave those four years ago. Would it be different if he had stayed? He stared, taking in Harkin's slim form as she stood by the window. It was nearly impossible to believe she at one point was the eager, adventurous, scrawny thirteen year old he had come to care for. Did she still hunt? Did she pass training all right? A bunch of questions settled on him but he couldn't think of which to ask first.

What was she now? _A hopeless, determined_—

She swung back around with a light shrug, and in that movement some moonlight hit her dark hair, casting a rather surreal look about her.

_...beautiful seventeen-year-old._

Was that what she was? A grown lass that suddenly was tugging on his conscience in a much different way than she had when she was younger?

He sat up and rubbed at his head, he was still too intoxicated to be having such thoughts.

She was at his side in a stride, putting pressure on his arm, "Don't overexert yourself—"

She was lightly chiding but he didn't hear her words, just studied the way her lips moved. Her bottom lip was plusher that her top. He felt her hand on his forehead, the skin was soft but tough in other spots, she had put in some work as she grew no doubt after had been thrown into the hard life. Her hair fell into and obscured one of her eyes, even like it had when she was thirteen and that's what finally convinced him it was actually her.

He could see it now that she was closer, the resemblance of the girl he remembered. Her eyes were the same turquoise color as they caught the light of the candle. She had dark freckles, but only a few, that spotted around her cheekbones under her eyes. She looked so concentrated and he just stared at every detail her face had to offer, searching, as more and more he saw the Harkin he had known in her expression. Her brows knotted and she blinked, asking him something he still didn't bother hearing. He reached out and brushed the hair from her eye, noting she had thick eyelashes.

She really was very pretty.

She suddenly tensed at his touch and he pulled away, suddenly ashamed for thinking of her in such a way. She wasn't just a pretty girl—he _knew_ her, at least he thought he did. Then again, how would he know anymore—he'd been gone for four years. She could have been anything or anyone by now—but he still liked to believe she was his little, overeager shadow in the forest.

She didn't say anything in reply to his touch. She didn't even question it or rebuke him; instead she stood and reached behind her and undid the back laces of her long tunic.

"Harkin, what are you doing?" he asked dubiously.

"I've waited up for most of the night to make sure you didn't die—I'm tired, I'm going to bed," she replied, throwing in a yawn for good measure.

He looked around them, "Uh, Harkin—_I'm_ in your bed."

Mattress.

"I know."

An stirring of want tightened slightly within him at the indications of sharing a—mattress with a female. She was a beautiful girl and she must have wanted him in some way to collect him and keep him there. Her long loosened tunic was baggy and easily dropped past her knees, suddenly rendering her all skin but for the wrapped under-material that gave her a slight modesty. She had definitely filled out as she grew older. She had a long torso connected to substantial curves despite her lithe body. She lifted the blanket that laid over him and slipped in, right into his side.

Tempting or not, he willed not to feel that way. He _didn't_ feel that way but his body couldn't ignore the indications of her movements. He was a hunter by nature, and she was acting as a fresh blood trail—making him hunger for the prey it led to. The alcohol did not help his resistance either.

Their skin touched and he felt her leg brush over his and wrap around it slightly. Then to even more of his surprise, she pressed against him and her lips hovered so close to his—"I know this seems rather, _forward_ but I've never ki—"

Her lips—were—so close.

He had to take the bait.

He grabbed her mouth in his hungrily, tasting the full lips and tongue of the girl. His teeth lightly bit her lower lip, lingering on the cushy surface. Did she know how completely seductive she was being? She certainly did not _hate_ him.

"Why are you doing this to me Harkin?" He groaned, his hands itching to untie her wraps and take her then.

"Because I've been in love with you for as long as I can remember," she whispered against his jaw, breathless and fervent.

And she might as well have been talking about something disgusting because his lust for the female quickly ebbed.

"What?"

"I love you," She murmured, sleepily, her eyes were struggling to stay open. She hadn't been just saying it to say it—she _was_ tired. She laid her head onto his chest and then it came even quieter, "I've always loved you. I'm glad you're alive."

Her hair was in her eyes again, but she didn't bother with it—she had fallen asleep and it was just as well she should. Luckily she had halted the beast below with the L-word and he was thankful despite the uncomfortable wilting of desire.

How could she have been in love with him for that long? Did thirteen-year-olds know what love was to hold it for many years? He paused, with a wave of dizziness, from everything—at twenty-two years, did _he_ even know what love was?

Girls had made love to him, he to them, but none had ever _loved _him. They liked him, they liked his body and he liked theirs but didn't love them either—only returned their interests; those tarts in the continent. He obviously was not prepared to handle love, if such a thing existed.

He certainly cared for Harkin—enough to feel like he should shield her from the advances of crude men. However, remembering that thought of wanting to take her, how close he was to actually doing it—how was he any different? He would have taken a bar wench home if not for Harkin and would already have been bedding her. How could he protect Harkin from himself? Those four years away had jaded him to women and their intentions, which in turn had jaded his own.

The truth was he was good enough for any women, anyone—all except the girl laying on him.

But, it was kind of nice just sitting there and listening to her soft breathing and the feel of the side of her face buried into his sternum. She looked so innocent and he refused to think of her as anything else. He lifted his hand and ran his fingers through a long piece of brunette hair, and that felt kind of nice too. He leaned forward and gathered her up to pull her closer without waking her. There, it was warmer that way for both of them and now her face was buried in his collarbone. That felt even nicer.

It felt nice to be loved—that's what it was, right? Having a woman admire him not in order to satisfy themselves with his masculinity, having a woman to sleep with, lay on him for comfort, but not with the intention to be intimate—it was a new concept. It was a nice concept—perhaps the one he'd initially wanted to fulfill before he had left his home.

He studied her, noticing a slight frown was kept in her expression as she slept. What had happened to Harkin while he was away? He still wondered with an itching worry but he just couldn't think anymore, he let his head drop into the pillow and roll to the side so his cheek pressed against the top of her head. That was nicest of all the feelings so far.

It had to have all been a dream. Harkin wasn't grown up, Ruff wasn't a mother, Berk was still that safe haven he knew so well. So he shut his eyes and slept in order to wake up back on the longboat, despite knowing that all the wonderful feelings were brought on because a girl he once knew had told him that she loved him. It just seemed too good to be true.

* * *

_Art News: There is a drawing of older Harkin in my DA gallery for those interested in seeing that._


	2. Part II

**A/N:** This part is Rated **M** for risque content and mature themes, just so you kids out there know and don't feel comfortable with that stuff, turn back.

* * *

The morning birds were chattering and Tuff opened a grumpy eye, still seeing he was not where he was supposed to be. He had a hangover, not his first and far from his last.

There was a warm female body huddled against his, which wasn't unusual but upon memories of the night before he sat up with a start, causing her body to shift off of his. He cringed at the ache in his head and held it for a moment as he looked to her.

The female at his side was still a womanly version of Harkin—messy morning hair and all—tangled from sleeping and that look was the scruffy remnant of the Harkin he was used to seeing. Still, she was something much more different now that he took time to notice and when he wasn't completely intoxicated, she was something else—something _desirable_ even.

The morning sun had spilled through the one window of the structure onto her form, drenching her in pure sunlight and for a moment it really did seem there wasn't a star in Valhalla that could have been as bright.

His eyes dragged across her body, causing that usual feeling of want to rise within him when he saw such a form but this time it was fighting hard with his conscience—something that had taken a long rest since his days in Berk.

He noticed she had his necklace. It hung around her neck and the pendant set on her chest. He had given it to her before he left, telling her he'd come back and get it. She didn't believe him at the time—that he would actually leave. It couldn't be helped though, at that time he needed to escape Berk.

He touched the Nadderhead tooth, reminded of his Father for that was who had given him the necklace in the first place. Ruff had a matching one. He liked the way it looked on Harkin, but not that piece of hair—it looked bothersome.

He hesitated but brushed the hair out of her eye again and the movement caused it to slowly flutter open and glance around before landing on him sitting there next to her.

She gave a small smile and it was surprisingly refreshing to see on her face, "Good morning."

"Good morning," he nodded in return, feeling awkward just because she was Harkin—the first girl he'd ever laid with and refrained from touching.

She rolled to her back, scooted backwards until she was upward and stretched her arms. To more of his surprise her stretch turned into her leaning forward to wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him. It was a quick kiss and then followed by another longer one.

He certainly enjoyed it but mumbled something and broke it by pulling away, "What are you doing Harkin?"

"Showing you my affection," she replied . Obviously.

"You can't! You just can't do this."

"But—"

"No," he sternly denied her while uncovering himself and set his feet on the cold floor.

He thought her a silly girl to be so taken with him. He had to go, she wasn't in the right mind and he knew he wasn't a good guy for her. She deserved far better. He found his boots on the floor beside the bed—no—it was a _mattress_—and lifted one to put it on.

"Don't leave."

That phrase was absolutely haunting. It caused him to stop his movement.

It trapped him.

He remembered it spoken so long ago in a plea as she played anchor on his waist, trying for all the word to stay with him. He looked over his shoulder at Harkin, wrapped in her sheets and giving him a heartbroken doe-eyed look that was completely impossible to refuse.

Her hand found his and she held it, whispering "Please don't leave me alone again."

_Alone_. There was that word again, just as depressing and ten times the heartbreak when _she_ said it. He began to understand she only wanted him there because she had no one else.

"Just stay with me. Please."

"Have you even been with a man before?" he demanded to know, assuming her intentions were for him to stay and _be_ with her as she had kissed him more than once and had even let the skins of their body's touch.

Not that he'd oblige her, he already felt wrong enough just staying the night with her. Why? He had _never_ had reservations about being with females in his life.

Harkin's eyes darted to the side nervously but he didn't know to make that out as a yes or no. She removed herself, suddenly seeming embarrassed or upset but hadn't meant to offend her.

"I have."

"Who?" Tuff growled, the thought of anyone touching her in such a way enraged him, despite her being grown enough to consent to such activity.

"A visiting man—only was ashore small time. I didn't love him," she said quietly.

"Then why would you—?"

"He made me."

He was taken aback, like a painful stab to his insides at comprehending her words, "You were_ pillaged_?"

Harkin winced at the word, possibly the memory—seeming ashamed, and rolled over—curling herself into a ball.

His anger was sparked. That was something Tuff looked down upon severely, in all his travels—all his women were consenting and even if he was aching for the touch of a lady he would have never made them do anything they weren't comfortable with. That aspect of his being was developed because he had grown up most of his life around nothing but women. There was a clear way for men to treat them, and a way _not_ to treat them.

"He talked nice to me but then turned out not so nice. I fought him hard but even the best fight moves can't disarm such a beast and you—you didn't know what it was like," he could hear the edge of tears in her voice. "I had nothing after my mom died—I just didn't want to be alone anymore."

"Did you tell anyone?"

"No. I was too ashamed. I managed to shank him across the cheek though when he was near done, he hit me so hard I blacked out and then I never saw him after that. He followed me from the tavern, I must have given him the idea—and I was easy prey." Harkin's voice had hardened but was filled with melancholy and even more so when she added, "He never even kissed me."

Tuffnut suddenly felt an overwhelming disgust with himself at his thoughts from the previous night of wanting to take her and comparing her to prey.

No, he wasn't good for her at all.

"Cringe found me and kept me warm until I woke up—she keeps me out of danger now if any man should follow me with the same intentions."

He finally understood that_ Cringe_ was the Nadder who had peeked through the window. Even scrutinizing Tuffnut as well as it should have. The dragon had come too late though for her.

His anger surged further within him at the nameless bastard that had taken Harkin and stolen her girlhood—had used violence on her, had tricked her. He felt a fierce urge to hunt the wretch down and tear out his throat. His knuckles had dug into the covers and tensed, "How long ago did this happen?"

"Nearly two years, it was after that winter of despair when I was on my own, alone."

_Alone_, probably the saddest word in Tuff's vocabulary.

So, Fifteen. When she was just Fifteen years old she had already faced such hardships and horrors He took it back—he had thought Berk would have been safer for her—Berk hadn't been safe. The once safe little village was now susceptible to untrustworthy strangers from the seas since it had become a better known place of interest.

"Could none of your friends help you?" He was still just so _frustrated_ that such a thing had happened to her, knowing that if he had stayed he could have prevented it in some way.

"They did not have enough room or money for charity."

"What about my mother? Did you ask my mother if you could have lived with her?"

There was quiet.

He knew this mother would never turn away an orphaned girl and his lodge had an extra room since his departure.

"I stopped speaking to her when we thought you died. I couldn't even bring myself to look at your old lodge without wanting to cry."

So she really did feel something for him.

He reached to her, curling his arms around her to bring her closer. He didn't want to isolate her or to cause her any sort of sadness. He just wanted her to smile again.

He was angered that the village could do nothing for Hoark's daughter as they all watched helplessly as she spiraled downward into the harshest cracks of life, if they even cared to notice.

_Please smile Harkin_, he willed as he looked upon her, recalling the biggest smile she had ever worn was when he let her ride on the right head of the Zippleback that summer of fervor so long ago and they went racing across the skyline of trees above the cliffs. She had been so exhilarated and her eyes were wide and wet from the wind tearing at them.

She was rigid now and her gaze was staring away from him, bravely trying to hold back her sorrow as she relived her terrible memories. But at some point the wall had broken and he saw a tear slip out.

He wasn't experienced in consoling people. He wasn't experienced in dealing with those soft kinds of emotions but seeing her tears had caused an unprecedented reaction to kick into him.

"Don't cry," he demanded and then kissed her on the cheek where the wet trail had settled. The gesture caused her gaze to turn on him. He kissed her again, this time closer to her lips.

"Don't cry," it was now more of a plea murmured against her skin. She still didn't speak. He felt that if he couldn't make her smile, he would never be happy with himself again. He nuzzled his nose into her neck and closed his eyes, inhaled. She smelled like pinewood and berries. Then after a long exhale and with all the sincerity in him, "I'm here. I'm not leaving, and I'm not gonna let anything ever hurt you again."

She turned her head as he issued another kiss but her lips caught into his and they shared a calm, caring greeting of lips. He took his kiss to be a binding promise to her. No girl had ever broken into his emotions like that. He knew he'd never felt so strongly about any girl in his twenty two years of life.

"Do you want to take me, Tuffnut?" she asked and for some reason the question paired with his name sent chills up his arms, because he actually, for once did _not_. He just wanted her to smile.

"It's okay," she insisted at his apprehensive expression, and reached behind her and unclasped the ties that held the wraps together, exposing her youthful breasts. He stared at her, seeing her in a way he'd never imagined her. She grabbed his wrist and guided it so it set on her chest, over the area her heart lied under the skin, "You're the only one I trust."

He was honored but she was still naïve, she of all people shouldn't have confused intimacy with actual love. The act could happen any time and the little he did know of supposed love was that it took a long time to find.

And she shouldn't have let him touch her because the lust was just painful to keep in now that he was aroused. Her skin where he touched was soft and delightful. Still he kept it under control, telling himself he wasn't going to take her. He didn't want her like he had wanted other females. He chose them based on aesthetics, went from there and sometimes even not—they were a means to satisfy his ends and vise versa. If he ever did have more than a feeling it quickly waned due to the next woman—there always seemed to be something better.

He looked at Harkin, waiting—wide eyed and so damn beautiful and it struck him when he knew he couldn't want anything more than her because for once there was nothing that seemed better. He closed his eyes, his thoughts screaming for him to contain himself, to keep it under control. His fingertips, however began exploring the skin she was holding his hand against.

He couldn't take it any longer, he grabbed her and planted a kiss on those full, tempting lips, still caressing that delicate, rosy skin of her chest. She broke the kiss and her breaths were shallow already, still overeager and excited but in a much different way from her adolescence. She crawled out of his grasp, across his lap and was suddenly on her hands an knees presenting herself to him. All he had to do was slip off that bottom under-layer and she would be his.

But he didn't; he stared for a moment then understood that the callous bastard must have taken her roughly in the most primitive and inhuman position to cause her to think it was the only way to please him.

"Not like this," Tuff swallowed his urges, displeased. Harkin's eyes widened in worry and embarrassment. She quickly pulled her legs in front of her and curled her knees to her chest, "Did I do something wrong?"

"No," he moved away from her, "No, none of it is your fault."

He sat quietly for a moment, considering everything, "Why do you love me?"

He knew he was good, but not good enough for her and it bothered him that she had so freely announced it when he was still struggling with all that it encompassed.

She really didn't even think about it, just scooted closer to his side and reached to his face, removing a strand of his own hair that had stuck to the side of his face—"You're the only one who could make me happy after my dad died and you also let me around you when none of the older kids would, and you taught me how to hunt and wrestle. I felt special when I was with you and still four years later no matter if I thought you dead or look at you now I still get that warm feeling about you. That's why I _know_ I love you."

She pecked him on the cheek and sighed, reaching down to his lap and he felt her small hand brush against him; his physical yearning hadn't wilted as quickly as he hoped "and you do _want_ me, so what is the matter?"

His answer came in a small moan, "This is all wrong."

"Is it because I'm so much younger?"

That fact didn't bother him. Many men took wives that were years younger than them. She was only five years his junior, technically an adult of society just like he. If they still raided, she would be able to join.

"No, it's because you think that _because_ you love me, you must offer yourself—you don't."

He suddenly realized he had, a moment ago, thought the word '_wives_' like as in '_wife_' but plural. His mind had unknowingly entered into a whole new realm of thought, thoughts he'd never considered before.

He glanced down to her, searching over her. Her expression of hope, perhaps the first time it had graced her face since age thirteen. He lifted the Nadder tooth pendant from where it laid in the valley of her breasts. He had told her that his father had given it to him and always made him feel better after his father was gone. He hoped it would make her feel better when he was gone. Maybe it had, because she still wore it even know, she really did love him. He wouldn't have let anyone else have it either.

His hand dropped the tooth and cupped her cheek, while moving a piece of her hair from her eye—that one bothersome piece of hair. One more kiss to be for sure of this growing idea in his head. He did it gently—feeling the need to make her happy, to protect her, to satisfy her all in one thought.

Yes, he could commit and _wanted _to commit himself to her. This feeling, this one inside him he held for Harkin was finally nameable.

"Harkin,"

She raised her brows in a look of wonder.

"I really love you."

Because it did exist, and he felt it.

And riding a Zippleback across the skyline didn't compare to her reaction—a wonderful mix of a wide smile below lifted cheekbones and a reignited brightness to those turquoise eyes. It was pure happiness, and he had made it for her and he felt himself smiling just as wide.

He had looked deep within to find that his care for the girl had transformed into more. She was so damn special to him and he had never considered the fact she would grow into a woman to love like a man could—and yet now he couldn't even fathom loving another more. His love didn't end there though.

"I wanna marry you too," he added quietly, a bit timid even to be voicing something so emotionally exposed. It seemed a little soon, and he feared she might reject the offer. She had no fathers or brothers to ask permission so it was all her decision. Though the development was a hasty to the outside world—to him it had seemed like he had waited forever to find this absolute feeling of a missing piece of something he had always needed. Maybe she needed it too and that's why she was perfect for him.

He wanted her to be comfortable, settled and not constantly struggling for wages. Most of all, he wanted her all to himself, to not be alone and he didn't care if she had no assets—he had enough for them both through his travels. He didn't want anyone else to lay a finger on her ever again, and even though she had her dragon to do that job he would make sure it stayed that way as well.

He was met with waves of joyful kisses from his brow to his shoulders which he took as her agreement. He felt himself laugh with a wash of relief flooding over him. He seized her and pulled her down to him, not to take her—no—he just wanted what he felt the night before with that comfort of her in his arms, fading into her. His feeling toward Harkin was an overwhelming pressure of happy in his chest that felt like it could burst at any moment but that wasn't love.

Harkin was love.

Harkin was the one he had always been waiting for but hadn't seen. It took four years, many dangers, and countless miles and hours of absence to realize it. But she was worth it. He would strive to be worthy of her.

The best part was that to have each other, they would never again be alone.

* * *

_HTTYD (c) of Dreamworks/Cressida Cowell_


End file.
